


Here in November (In this house of leaves)

by KeepGoing



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Derek thinks he's been in Eichen House since the fire, Eichen | Echo House, M/M, Mental Institutions, Peter Hale in Eichen House, STILES CHECKS HIMSELF INTO EICHEN HOUSE. AGAIN, Slow Build, Stiles realizes his feelings for Derek, Wolf Derek, scott and stiles are trying to find their way back to friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 17:18:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5506280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeepGoing/pseuds/KeepGoing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After he kills Donovan, his fight with Scott, and as the darkness slowly rolls back into his life, Stiles decides going back to Eichen House may be the best thing for him and every one in his life. But what he doesn't expect is to find Derek there, unable to remember the events of the past 3 years; believing he's been there since the fire. </p>
<p>With the help of the Sheriff, Chris Argent and the rest of the pack, Stiles must figure out what has happened to Derek and a way to defeat the Dread Doctors. But with Peter Hale roaming the halls of Eichen House, that may not be his only problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here in November (In this house of leaves)

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a chapter fic. NC-17 eventually. 
> 
> Title of this fic taken from the song "Haunted" by Poe. 
> 
> Comments are looooove <3

  
  
_“Stiles? Stiles, sweetheart, can you hear me?”_

The blackness behind his eyes starts to form shades of yellow and his mouth is so dry his tongue is sticking to roof of his mouth. He tries to move his lips but the skin on them is pulling apart as if someone had super glued them shut. He can hear distant voices. Inside his head he is screaming. 

_“Stiles, please.”_

His father’s voice begs in the background. Everything is hollow. Everything is dark. The yellow is gone now. He can't look at his father. Not now. Not ever again.

He needs Scott. 

But he can't have Scott. Not anymore.

He has no one. 

_“Just punch him in the face.”_

Malia. So brutal yet so simplistic. 

God bless her. 

_“Shouldn't we move him? I mean…”_

So many people trying to help. It won't matter. He can't be helped anymore. 

The darkness has almost fully encompassed him now. He’s ready. He’s been ready. There hasn't been much light at all lately. 

The panic attacks. The constant fear and dread. The sadness. The guilt. He’s been slowly losing his mind for a while now. Ever since that night in the woods...maybe even before that when his mother…

_“Stiles, honey? Come on. Wake up.”_

Her voice is so soft. It's always been been such a comfort in his life. Everything about her was comforting. But now...now that he and Scott…

No. It doesn't matter anymore. He knew deep down somehow Scott wouldn't understand. He knows the moral compass that Scott Mccall lives his life by. He knew that murder, whether an accident or not, is not the code of the True Alpha. You save at all costs. Even if it means turning a 14 year old boy into a werewolf. 

_**“Welcome back, Stiles.”** _

He knows that voice. No. No. They killed it. They killed that darkness. He knows it. Its captured now. Secure. Somewhere it can't hurt him or anyone else anymore.

_**“Let’s play a game, Stiles.”** _

And then he screams.  
****  
****************  
  
  
“Stiles?”

Stiles’ honey brown eyes lift up from his hands that have rendered him fascinated on his lap for the past 20 minutes. He blinks a few times. 

“Sorry. Must have zoned out.”

“Been doing that a lot lately.” Dr. Marsh taps her pen on her notepad, peering at him with concern. He sighs.

“Yeah, well.” It's all he’s got. It’s all he’s had for a while. 

“Still having the nightmares?” She asks, leaning forward a bit. Stiles shrugs. 

“On and off. It’s not really when I’m asleep that’s the problem. It’s...all the time. My head just…” He makes random hand gestures near his head. “On all the time.”

“What kind of things are going through your mind right now, Stiles?” 

Echoes of screams, tearing of flesh, bullet wounds, arrows, electrical currents, swords, gallons of water weighing him down, and waves of blood make a home behind his eyes. Stiles shudders. 

“The usual.”

Dr. Marsh frowns visibly and leans back against her comfortable plush chair. “Stiles. You know this is never going to work unless you’re honest with me. You’ve been here almost a month now and I’ve gotten barely anything out of you.” She pauses. “You realize how worried we all are about you, don't you? Your father, your friends?”

Stiles snorts. “Friends. Right.”

“Tell me about why you think your friends aren't worried.”

“Have you seen anyone on my visitor registry? Other than my father?” Stiles argues. Dr. Marsh remains silent. “Exactly.”

“Not all people handle these type of situations the same, Stiles. Maybe it's just as hard on them as it is you.” Dr. Marsh tries to reassure him. Stiles shakes his head. 

“I’m done talking.”

Dr. Marsh sighs. “I can't make you talk to me, Stiles. That’s your choice. But we are never going to be able to conquer your demons unless we figure out what they are.”

Stiles stands; the rubber on the bottom of his velcro shoes causing static to rise on his skin. It makes him cringe. “I know exactly what my demons are, Doc.”  
  
  
********  
  
  
Stiles had been in Eichen house for 33 days. Between his guidance counselor, teachers, the shrinks at Beacon Hills memorial, and even his own father, they felt it was best for Stiles to have a “rest.” This wasn't like last time when the Nogitsune was brimming at the surface waiting to erupt out of him to cause utter chaos. No. This was plain old anxiety. Panic. Depression. Mania. Good old mental illness. 

Even though he was in the part of the ward at Eichen House that housed the normal crazies; not the supernatural dangerous beings that were held in the basement under lock and key; the nurses and doctors looked at him as if he was something different. They knew he knew things. That he wasn't as “human” as he claimed to be. But they kept it quiet; kept an eye on Stiles with just a hint of fear that perhaps they would have to move him downstairs at some time during his stay here. 

Stiles knows why he’s here. He knows he’s not well. He knows what the problem with him is. 

He’s broken. Damaged. And possibly insane. How could he not be? After everything? How can someone go through all he’s been through in such a short amount of time and not come out untouched? Not have scars, not just physical ones, that ache and burn? He is just human, just like he tried to remind Scott of that night outside in the rain. He’s not a true Alpha. He’s not a werewolf or a banshee or were-coyote. He’s just a human. And he makes mistakes. And they destroy just like everything else he touches. 

But Stiles doesn't want to talk. He doesn't want some doctor to tell him bullshit theories and give him exercises on how to eliminate his anger and fear and guilt. He wears those emotions like badges of honor. To remind of what he’s been through. What he’s seen. What he’s lost. What he's done. He’s killed. No matter how you rationalize it. 

But then he has to ask himself every day why he’s there then. Maybe because he’s away from it now. Yeah the Dread Doctors are still out there, possibly even still visiting the “patients” locked downstairs, but Stiles doesn't care. Scott doesn't need him to defeat them. Stiles isn't sure Scott ever needed him. Not since he was bitten. Stiles was a defenseless human in a pack full of supernaturals. 

So no, Stiles doesn't want to talk. He just wants to...be. He wants to eat his 3 meals a day and watch mindless TV and have art time and “rec” time and go to sleep every night without having to worry about his cell phone ringing in the middle of the night with the next catastrophe. He can wake up in the morning and know “today I won't die. Today will be just like yesterday.”

He has a home here among the crazies trying to eat the paint off the walls and the guy who barks up and down the halls all day. He feels safe next to Mannie, who eats his own hair. 

He’s never felt more normal than he does in Eichen House. 

Nothing ever changes. Nothing strange ever happens. At least not in his eyes. No one here is crazy. They are all just like him. They are all just working through the shit life had thrown their way, IN their own way. 

And Stiles feels at home.  
  
  
*******  
  
  
“Your doctor says you aren't really talking in therapy.”

Stiles shrugs as Maury Povich gives another poor bastard his DNA results of a child he SWORE was not his on the community room TV. He can hear Karen in the corner talking to “Pete” the alien that has come to take her “home” but no one can see but her. 

“Stiles...I want you to come home. But you can't unless they say…”

Stiles turns to look at his father with a raised eyebrow. “Ok, I’ll tell them the truth, Dad. I’ll tell them that my best friend got turned into a werewolf and that Jackson was a lizard and that I was possessed by a demon and then we’ll see how long they lock me up in here.”

His father frowns. “I don't know how to help you, Stiles. If you give them SOMETHING or at least take the medication they are offering you-”

“I dont need any medication, Dad. Nothing is going to help what's wrong with me. Its this town. It's…” Stiles waves his hand around toward the other patients in the room. “It's what it does to the people in it. I bet you a million dollars most of these people are nuts because of things they have seen in this town. Maybe the best place for me is in here.”

“You know that's not true.”

“Isnt it? I’m a HUMAN Dad, in a group of supernatural beings who can defend themselves. I’ve always been the one they have had to protect. And I’m in it now, Dad. I’ll never be free. Neither will you. If we were smart we’d leave this town and never look back.” Stiles gives his father a pointed look. “But I know you won't do that. And I’m worried about you every second of every day, and I know you used to worry about me till it made you sick. But now, you don't need to worry about me anymore so you can focus better on keeping yourself safe.”

“I still worry about you, Stiles. And you don't know you’re safe in here.” The Sheriff looks around the room, his brow furrowed. “These people could be violent.”

Stiles huffs out a laugh. “Yeah? So are my friends.”

“Scott does what he needs to do to protect his friends.” John Stilinski tries to once again to reassure Stiles of his “best friends” loyalty and goodness.

“Yeah. I know. At all costs. Even if it means taking the word over someone other than me.” Stiles pulls his knees up to his chest and tries to concentrate on the woman on the TV screaming about her baby daddy. 

“I don't know exactly what happened between you and Scott, Stiles, but I am sure you can work it out. You always have.”

Stiles nods. “Maybe some day. But not now, Dad.” He checks the clock on the wall. “You should get back to work.”

The Sheriff stands and Stiles follows his motions. It seems that's all he does now a days. Follows the motions.

They hug; his father burying his face in Stiles shoulder and holding on for dear life. And that's what his father does nowadays. Holds on for dear life. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow.” John whispers.

“Okay, Dad.” Stiles sighs. “Okay.”  
  
  
********  
  
  
The art room is quiet today. Not too many people feeling artistic, Stiles guesses. He isn't an artist. He could barely draw the stick figure when he used to play hangman in grammar school. And he hasn't gotten any better. But for some reason he’s found the feeling of the brush on the canvas; the way the paint just splatters and makes its own destiny, nothing of what Stiles pictures in his head; soothes him. Red’s mix with blues and he creates colors that you never see in a rainbow. Not that Stiles has seen many rainbows lately. 

Stiles would have scoffed at anyone at any point in his life if they told him that art was therapeutic. But now? He gets it. Its quiet. It releases things inside of himself he didn't even know he wanted out. Black for all the demons he has seen and long hidden inside himself. Red for all the blood that's been shed. Browns and greens for the woods he’s run in so many times for his life. 

And blues. Blues for…

The shuffle of feet make him lift his eyes up toward the door. 

Blue paint splatters onto the floor. 

Green eyes meet his.

“Sorry to bother you. Would you mind if I painted too?”

Stiles swallows the sharp nails in his throat. His heart feels like it's about to explode out of his chest.

It looks like him with the eyes and the scruff and the muscles hidden behind white scrubs. His feet are socked with the ones the hospital gives you when you first arrive; too afraid to give you your own shoes just yet. And it feels like him, in a way. The strength. The power. It's the same feeling Stiles has always felt with him around. 

But he’s different. Weak in a way. Afraid. Uncertain. 

Human. 

“Derek…?”

The man who looks like the wolf who was once an Alpha cocks his head slightly and gives Stiles a warm tiny smile. 

“Yes.” He pauses, furrowing his brow as if he is trying to remember something he never knew. 

Stiles stands, the scraping of the chair underneath him hurting his ears as it echoes in the empty room. “What are you doing here?”

Derek looks confused again. “I’ve been here a long time. How long have you been here?”

“About a month. I...what do you mean you’ve been here a long time? You left with Braeden like 4 months ago. Does she know you’re here?”

Derek frowns. 

“Whose Braeden?”  
  
  
*******  
  
  
“I need you to tell me everything you know about Derek Hale!” Stiles throws open Dr. Marsh’s door to find Mannie, the hair eater, sitting on the plush leather couch across from her murmuring his usual crazy. That can wait. Stiles has more important matters to discuss. 

“Stiles! First of all I am with a patient and secondly you know I can't discuss other patients with you.” She stands, eyeing the sweat that has formed across his forehead and takes note of his staggered breathing. “I am curious to know how you know Derek though.”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” Stiles crosses his arms at an informational standoff with the doctor. 

Dr. Marsh smiles. “Mannie why don't we pick this up tomorrow. And remember. Hair is for your head not..”

“Your mouth.” Mannie whimpers, shuffling out of the office past Stiles. Stiles rolls his eyes. That's just a whole nother brand of crazy. 

“Now. Derek. Go.” Stiles flops down onto the couch, waving his hand around in an impatient manner. 

Dr. Marsh settles in gently across from her patient. “Derek’s been here for about a month. But he believes in his mind he’s been here a lot longer. His family died-”

“In a fire. I know. Some crazy bitch burned it to the ground.” Stiles finishes for her. 

Her eyes widen. “Yes. But Derek mentally is stuck back during that time. He believes he’s been here since the fire.”

“But like where did he come from? Last time I saw him he was riding off into the sunset with his girlfriend. And now he’s here? At Eichen House? He has no idea who I am! He doesn't remember anything that happened!” Stiles yells. 

“And what happened, Stiles. How do you know Derek?” Dr. Marsh pushes. 

Stiles sighs heavily. “Its Beacon Hills, Doc. Everyone knows everyone.”

“Mmm. I suppose so. But this ‘everyone’ seems to affect you greatly.” 

“Yeah, well. We’ve been through alot together.” Is all Stiles gives her. 

“Derek has been...in the special ward until this morning. He needed to be...rehabilitated so he wasn't a danger to himself or others.” Dr. Marsh explains. 

Stiles shudders. Dr. Marsh knows he isn't an idiot. And he knows Dr. Marsh isn't one either. They both know what goes on downstairs. In the ‘special’ ward. They both know that it's for the special part of Beacon Hills that nobody likes to talk about but everyone knows. And Dr. Marsh knows that Stiles is aware of this part of Beacon Hills. She’s hinted at it in their sessions. Shes trying to get out of him everything he has seen. What he's been through. But he isn't ready. But he needs to know why the hell Derek is here. He needs to know the truth. 

“When he was brought in was he a big black wolf?”

Dr. Marsh coughs, her face turning bright red and her hands flailing in front of her. Yup. Thats his answer. 

“Who brought him in?”

Dr. Marsh eyes him. “I’m not at liberty to discuss that with you.”

“Bullshit. Who. Brought. Derek. In.”

Dr. Marsh leans back, crossing her legs and folding her hands neatly across her lap. 

“Chris Argent.”  
  
  
************  
  
  
Stiles’ hands tremble as he holds the payphone receiver and his fingers can barely find the buttons for a number he knows by heart. It's the first time in months he's going to hear his voice let alone speak 2 words to him. And it's the not the kind of words Stiles had been planning on telling him. He had this whole speech planned. They would yell, then apologize and then everything would go back to normal. 

But nothing has never been normal between them. At least not for a long time. 

He knows Scott feels guilty for believing Theo over him. That apology had come not long after Theo’s master plan and all the mutant supernaturals starting crawling out of the woodwork. Scott knew his mistake. And he tried to fix it. 

But Stiles, for some reason, just can't seem to let it go. He can't forgive. He used to be able to forgive so easily. But now...he’s seen too much. Done too much. Forgiveness doesn't roll off him anymore. 

But he needs to know. Something is happening. 

And he is the Alpha after all. 

_“Yeah. Its me.”_ Sigh. _“Um, Derek’s in here.”_ Pause. _“I know. Argent brought him in.”_ Pause. _“Not that simple, Scotty. He’s regressed. Again. He thinks he’s been here since the fire.”_ Pause. _“No. He’s full grown Derek. He knows how old he is. He just thinks he’s been here for 10 freaking years.”_ Pause. _“Yeah, don't I always?”_

Stiles hangs up, runs to the nearest garbage can and releases his lunch from his stomach.  
  
  
***********  
  
  
Derek’s eyes shift around the room between Stiles, Scott, the Sheriff and low and behold, Chris Argent. He’s tense; his tension and anger oozing off of him directed mainly at Argent who has taken a back seat in this interrogation. He knows better. He knows now, after it being explained to him, that Derek, in his mind, believes Kate is still alive and out there. He doesn't know vengeance has been served and that Chris, for all intents and purposes, is on “their” side now. 

Stiles just isn't sure why “they” are anymore. 

“None of this makes any sense.” The sheriff huffs out. 

“It never does in this town.” Stiles mumbles and he catches Derek giving him a small smirk. Its weird. 

And comforting.

Fucking Derek.

“This isn't the first time this has happened?” Derek asks quietly. 

“Last time you were turned back into a teenager. Before the fire even happened.” Scott explains. “And you don't remember anything from the last 3 years?”

Derek shakes his head. “No. But I know you’re a werewolf. An Alpha at that.” He pauses. “Who turned you?”

Stiles groans, his head falling back against the ratty old couch in the TV room of Eichen House. This is going to be a long afternoon.

And so it begins. The excruciatingly painful story of how all this came to pass. Hearing the story told again just makes the bile rise again and again in his throat. He eyes his father curiously; knowing that most of this stuff, the real explanations; he’s never heard before. His father's reactions are quite hilarious, but he knows how much trouble Stiles is really in. His father is starting to realize just how much danger Stiles has been in all this time. How much danger Stiles had PUT himself in. All for the sake of Scott and his ‘pack’. 

And the weirdest thing; aside from all the surprise, anger, sympathy and back to anger again that his father expresses on his face; is the look of comfort as his eyes move back and forth between Derek and Stiles. Like it all makes sense now and he watches his father slowly relax at realizations that Stiles isn't sure his father is starting to process. 

But Stiles can't concentrate on that right now. Right now he’s trying not to make eye contact with Scott. He’s trying to stay calm when all he’s been trying to do is escape this for the past month. But it's Derek. Derek who had come full circle and changed. Derek, who yes turned a bunch of misfit teenagers into werewolves and got most of them killed, but still. He redeemed himself. The Derek who left with Braeden all those months ago was not the same Derek he and Scott had first seen in the woods that fall afternoon. 

And this Derek sitting in front of them is neither of those Derek’s either. This Derek...even though he remembers the fire and all the horrific things Kate did to him...is even more gentle. 

And this Derek never takes his eyes off Stiles while Scott and Chris Argent explain the story to him.

Which...what?

“Do you have any questions, Derek? Anything we didn't cover that you are still confused about?” Chris asks. He’s still nervous, Stiles can tell. Nervous that Derek is going to jump out of his chair and rip Argent’s throat out. With his teeth. 

Derek just taps his finger rhythmically on his knee and eyes Stiles. “You’re not a werewolf.”

“Nope. Plain old human.” Stiles answers.

“He’s more than that. He’s pack.” Scott interjects. Stiles snorts. 

“You’re not?” Derek asks, eyebrow raised. 

Stiles shrugs. “I was.”

“You ARE.” Scott corrects him, half growling, eyes flashing red. 

“Okay, let's save that conversation for another time.” Chris stands, hand out between Scott and Stiles. “Derek, I think the best thing right now is for you to stay in here. We have no idea why this happened, who or what did this, and with the Dread Doctors out there and Theo with his new brand of supernatural Chimera’s, I think it's best for you to stay put.” He turns to Stiles. “I assume you are still going to be here for...some time with your treatment.”

“You betcha.” Stiles gives Argent the thumbs up. “I’ll keep an eye on Der-Bear here.”

Derek smirks. 

Fucking what.

They all stand except, Derek and the Sheriff hugs Stiles. “You okay?” He whispers to him. Stiles nods. He knows he’s asking because of Scott. But Stiles has nothing to say about that right now. 

“If anything changes you call us.” Argent tells Stiles, shaking his hand. Stiles nods. Scott eyes him, his puppy brown eyes searching Stiles’ for something. Stiles just remains emotionless on his face.

“Stiles…” Scott whines. 

“Take care, Scott.”

A small whimper escapes Scott’s throat but he retreats, his hypothetical tail between his legs. When the room is cleared, except for Mannie and crazy Linda who sings for birds, Stiles flops back down on the couch. And Derek is still looking at him.

“Dude, you’re freaking me out here. What? Why are you staring at me like that?”

“I remember you. From when you were a little kid. The day of the fire your father brought me into the station. Wrapped his jacket around me...he was only a deputy then. And you were there, running around with this paper airplane you had made. You were so proud of it. You threw it at one point, it landing at my feet. You were scared at first to come near me; I was...a wreck. But you did. You sat yourself down next to me on the bench and asked me what was wrong. I didn't answer you but it was like you knew I had lost someone. Everyone. You told me your mother had just died. And that even though she was gone, you knew she was still with you. And that even though I had lost someone that I had to remember they were always going to be with me. I wondered how someone so young could be so brave. So smart. So trusting. So full hearted. How you could still see the good in the world after all you had lost. And now? Hearing what you went through with Scott and me...and the pack. It makes sense why you would be here. Even the strongest of heart break sometimes.” Derek gives Stiles the smallest of smiles. 

Stiles feels the tears stinging his eyes. He hasn't cried. Not once since he had come to Eichen House. He refuses. There is no point. 

“I don't remember that.”

Derek shrugs. “Doesn't matter. I do. So thanks. It made things a little better even if for just a minute. You even let me keep that paper airplane.” 

“Derek...why do you think you’ve been here since the fire? I mean...I get that would make anyone go insane, losing all that you have. But...you’re a werewolf. And yes you were all angry wolf for a while but you got through it. Last time I saw you, you were at peace. For the first time maybe ever. I can't wrap my head around how this could have happened again. I mean Chris finding you as a wolf, unable to transform back? They said you were like a rabid dog.”

“I don't know where the memories came from. But I remember being at the station with your father and then wolfing out in front of everyone and then being taken here. I couldn't control my wolf. I couldn't control the change after that. And once I could...I didn't have anywhere to go. My family was gone. PTSD they called it. So I just stayed here.” Derek pauses, scratching at the scruff on his cheeks. “It's like I have memories of 2 different worlds now. The one that I thought I was living this entire time and now figments...just flashes, feelings of the one I had with all of you. With you.”

“I know what you mean.” Stiles mumbles. “But the Derek Hale I know would never hide.”

“Aren't you hiding?”

Stiles eyes stare straight into Derek’s. For someone who claims not to remember him, any of them, he sure seems confident in his opinions. 

“At least I’m safe.”

Derek nods.

“How are you not like freaking out right now? I mean...how are you just okay to stay here and not be out there looking for what did this to you? Or at least find out why it happened?”

“Same reason you’re in here and not with your pack fighting.”

“You have no idea why I’m in here.”

“You’re broken. You’re scared. And it's easier in here than it is out there.” 

Stiles scoffs. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Well we are gonna be stuck in here a while together. So when you’re ready to explain it to me, I’ll be here.” Derek stands. “I’m starving. Should be lunch time soon.” He heads toward the double doors, throwing over his shoulder; “You coming?”

Stiles sighs heavily, groaning as he pushes himself off the couch. Where’s the Derek Hale who would have broken out of this place, teeth snarling and punching through concrete walls? This ‘go with the flow’ Derek was taxing on Stiles’ nerves.  
  
  
***********  
  
  
It's disturbing. The scene in front of him. It's like The Shining type creepy and if those damn kids appear out of nowhere and start asking him to play with them forever and ever, he’s going to start punching through walls to get the hell out of here. 

Derek Hale is sitting on the couch in the community room, next to him, watching Judge Judy and eating green Jell-o from a plastic cup. 

What. Is. Happening. 

Stiles keeps side eyeing Derek, who is just content as can be with his snack and mindless television choice. They haven't spoken once about the severe issues at hand since Chris, Scott and his father were there 4 days ago. They haven't talked about figuring out why Derek can't remember anything that happened since the fire. Or the fact that there are Steampunk crazy ass doctors rolling around Beacon Hills turning teenagers into Hulk Monsters. And they definitely haven't talked about what actually happened to make Stiles check himself into Eichen House. 

Nope. They just watch daytime TV, eat Jell-o, play board games, go to therapy and then read together in Stiles’ room until it's lights out and Derek pads back to his own room, just across from Stiles’. It's fucking weird. 

And oddly comforting. 

To have someone here he knows...but doesn't know him. The entire situation is beyond messed up but he’s enjoying it in ways that he shouldn't be allowed to be. It's not supposed to be like this. Stiles is in a freaking mental institution for God’s sake. And now so is Derek. So why is everything so Tra La La?

And then one day something shifts. Like a curtain being opened and a small shining of light coming through a once dark window. 

Derek and Stiles are sitting on the couch in the common room, just like any other day. There has been no progress in Derek’s recovery. But he won't leave Stiles’ side. Ever. Like Stiles has a new guardian watching over him with every breath he takes. 

There is crazy chatter around them and they both have mastered the art of tuning it all out. Stiles stretches and his hand lands back onto the couch cushion. Right on top of Derek’s. He freezes. Derek never even flinches. But then when Stiles feels Derek’s hand shift and his long fingers start to intertwine in his own, Stiles makes a small ‘meep’ sound out his throat. 

Their eyes meet and Stiles swallows hard.

“This okay?” Derek whispers, but with still so much confidence in his voice. This is a new Derek for Stiles. Confident. Assuring. 

And fucking hot, even in his mental institution garb. 

“Yeah…” Stiles moans out. Basic touch. Stiles craves it and he never even knew he did. Derek squeezes his hand and Stiles breath hitches. 

This is new...yet so familiar. It's no secret he and Derek have been dancing around each other for years. But when Derek left the last time with Braeden he was sure that was the last of the “will they or won't they, Stiles and Derek show.”

But fate again rears its head and now Derek freaking Hale is holding his hand on a ratty old couch in Eichen House. 

“Well isn't this just the sweetest site I could possibly have laid eyes on. Glad you guys have finally decided to give it a go. I always thought you two made the cutest couple.”

Derek and Stiles turn their heads to find someone standing next to them, a someone Stiles had never thought he’d see again, someone who made his skin crawl and blood turn to ice. 

But Derek. 

Stiles turns to look for Derek’s reaction but he has no time. Derek is leaping over the couch, eyes flashing blue, teeth snarling and claws out. 

Stiles has no time before Derek’s claws are deep inside Peter Hale’s chest.  



End file.
